


the perks of being unclaimed

by prouvairing



Series: Demigod AU [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demigods, Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairing/pseuds/prouvairing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cabin 11 knows that you don't mess with Jean Prouvaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the perks of being unclaimed

Jehan spends his summers sleeping on the dusty, worn floor of Cabin 11, huddled in a sleeping bag. It is crowded and it is loud, and someone always ends up jabbing an elbow in your spine while you’re sleeping.

It is also surprisingly easy to feel alone in the chaos. At least at first.

He remembers the first few weeks of thrill, of wait, of seeing others be claimed, while Courfeyrac whispered, _any day now, you’ll see. It just takes a little longer for some people._

And a week passes by, and adjusting is hard enough without worrying about his silent, distant mother.  
A week becomes a month, and a month becomes three. Somewhere between flying pegasi, dodging lava as he scales walls and Grantaire braiding his hair in the morning, he forgets to be sad.

Sometimes he’s reminded of it at night, when some other unclaimed kid sticks a socked foot in his face, or when the floor is too hard or too cold, or when some shimmering hologram comes to recognize a newbie, screaming, _mineminemine!_

And between the snores and hushed breaths of regulars, unclaimed and minors, a thought slithers in his mind and makes him shiver.

It’s a vicious, _Was I not good enough to acknowledge at all?_

_*_

Somewhere along the way, Cabin 11 becomes home.

You keep your eye on your things, in Cabin 11, because the chaos is just the right environment for them to disappear. The inhabitants of the cabin soon learn, however, that Jehan is fierce enough that you just don’t want to steal his flower-print shoes ( _he is made for epics, he just doesn’t know it yet_ ).

Most of all, while the arrangement of sleeping bags changes with the weather, they all come to know – you don’t sleep in Jehan’s spot.

 *

Of course, Courfeyrac is the one that collects him when he first arrives, all battered and torn (as demigods tend to come) to show him around camp.

And of course Courfeyrac has the same sharp nose and upturned eyebrows as all other Hermes kids. The same wicked blue eyes and toothy, wolfish smiles.

Jehan doesn’t know why it all looks so especially _unfair_ , when it’s on Courfeyrac’s face, under tangles of dark brown hair. But Jehan is just eleven and yet already he wants to write sonnets about it.

( _The rating goes up through the years, but for now it’s just about the way his eyes sparkle dangerously when he smiles)._

But maybe it’s not the eyes, or the smile, or the way he tends to float a foot off the ground with those winged shoes of his.

It’s how Courfeyrac’s hand always manages to dangle off the side of his bed, just inches from Jehan’s face, and how those fingers would tangle with his in the first few nights, when monsters were still frightening.

And how they still do, from time to time, when they become frightening again, and no amount of training and battles can make them less so. When vicious thoughts come back up and make him quake.

Jehan never makes a sound, but somehow, Courfeyrac always knows, like he can read it in the curve of Jehan’s spine and the set of his shoulders.

 *

His second summer, he is claimed.

For a brief, panicked moment, Courfeyrac looks at him, dangerous blue eyes blown wide. And, for a moment, Jehan isn’t happy and he isn’t found. Because Cabin 11, through trials and tribulations, has become home, and he is almost angry that all that has been a waste.

He doesn’t have time to name the feeling, but if he did, he would call it, _how will I sleep now, when things are bad?_

Then Combeferre declares, soft and sure, _“_ All hail Jean Prouvaire, son of Calliope.”

And Jehan is happy.

And he is found.

And Courfeyrac smiles and it stretches his cheeks and wrinkles his eyes, and the Cabin 11 kids – regulars and not – all cheer.

Jehan isn’t going anywhere.

 *

“What does epic poetry even _mean_?”

“It means, R, that when we go off and have marvelous adventures, slay monsters and conquer treasures, I will then sit down and write columns upon columns of verse to narrate our quests and it’ll be the best thing since the Odyssey.”

“You better make my tragic death glorious.”

“Silence, I need to invoke my muse…”

**Author's Note:**

> Jehan feels all around!
> 
> Let's clarify the ages for all characters mentioned thus far: Jehan is ten years old when he arrives at camp (May-June) and turns eleven in July. He is claimed in June, the next year, and turns twelve by the time R leaves camp. Grantaire is fourteen by then. Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Eponine are thirteen and Combeferre is also fourteen. 
> 
> (The others will appear soon enough, too, pinky promise)
> 
> As always, I live [here](http://seagreeneyes.tumblr.com) and the fic lives here [here](http://prouvairing.tumblr.com), feel free to stop by.


End file.
